melanchahlia

for my bouts of poetic melancholy and expressions of the bad-word emotions

[melanchahlia]

Why is this here?

This blog is a place for me to share my journal entries with the world with a comfortable level of anonymity. I want to be heard without being fussed over or judged for speaking. I want to be related to. Lovely thing about the internet.

Anyway, my point is that the things in this blog can be a little rough--and potentially triggering for those of you who much relate a little too much, so please take care of yourself. I know depression can lead some of us to do things like jump down the rabbit hole of sad music, haunting quotes, and equally depressing content. Just make sure you don't jump so far down that you can't reach your safety rope. Come back to the softer side of the world when you're done. Sit down and cuddle up with your blanket, have some candy, watch Adventure Time, and swap the Breaking Benjamin out for some Queen, okay? And I mean like Bohemian Rhapsody or Don't Stop Me Now--not some sad song that I probably haven't heard.

Okay, love you guys, please enjoy and relate--but only like kinda sorta. <3

[melanchahlia]

Tuesday, January 21, 2025, 11:24 PM

I’m so tired. I need to not exist for a little bit. Stop moving.  Stop hearing.  Stop breathing.  Stop thinking. 

I don’t have a job.  I have no money.  My bills are behind.  I’m lying to him.  Papa hurt Grandma.  Grandma needs help.  Health insurance.  Disability.  Paid leave.  Union rep.  Grandma cries almost every day.  Uncle is doing drugs.  With my mom.  And Auntie.  The kids have no food except at Grandma's house.  He has a girlfriend with three small children.  Including a young girl.  Repeating.  Repeating.  Repeating.  My brother is friends with him.  My brother is a loser.  My brother used to be my best friend.  Great-grandma belongs in a home.  The other brother is complicated.  The foster parent.  I hate her.  My sister needs someone to save her.  I’m supposed to be that savior.  She needs me.  I need her.  I can’t have her.  Everyone needs me.  But I’m not the savior I used to be.  I’m powerless.  I’m in the way.  I’m messy.  I’m tired, and my hands are tied.  I have empty promises.  No haven.  No funds.  No strength.  I need a savior.  Someone help me. 

It never ends.  If I sit still as death, feeling my heart beating and my shoulders breathing, while staring at nothing, it doesn’t end.  Everything keeps moving.  Another piece.  Another fight.  Another call.  Another word.  Another sound.  Another labored breath.  Another thought.  Another tingle in my guts.  Another try staring at the pans on the wall to make the world stop moving. More breathing.  More sounds.  No control. 

No control.